Right Place, Wrong Time
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Oneshot. It started out a normal, quiet evening. Then Special Agent Tony DiNozzo tried to be a Good Samaritan. He's gonna wish he'd stayed out of it. Hurt!Tony, Comforting!Gibbs. Written for the Support Stacie Author Auction held April 4-6, 2009.


This story was written for Adalia Zandra, the winning bidder for me at the Support Stacie Author Auction, April 4-6, 2009.

Disclaimer: None of the characters, nor anything related to NCIS, belong to me. Just having a little fun.

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**Right Place, Wrong Time**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

"Well, well—if it isn't Anthony DiNozzo."

"Hey, Charlie." Tony sank down on the padded bar stool and leaned his elbows on the bar.

"Been awhile, kid. What can I get for you?"

"I'll take a Sierra Nevada if you've got it."

"'course I got it. Couldn't disappoint my favorite NCIS agent now, could I?"

Tony flashed a small grin and batted his eyelashes. "Ahhh, I bet you say that to all the special agents."

Charlie Flynn, ex-Navy man and the owner of this aptly-named little hole-in-the-wall called Charlie's Place, pursed his lips briefly in thought and rolled his eyes. "True. How do you think I stay in business?" he asked with a wink and jaunty grin. He snapped the bottle cap off the longneck and placed it in front of the young agent. "Bad day?"

"Eh. Bad week."

"I hear ya. Been so long since I've seen you, figured you've probably been cutting a swath through and painting the town red with a whole host of pretty ladies."

"A whole host? Nah. There've been a couple. Nothing serious."

"Tony, my boy, I'm waiting for the day you bring one of your young beauties to Charlie's Place. The day that happens we'll know you're serious." The bar owner plunked a bowl of Cayenne Pretzels—one of his specialties—in front of Tony before moseying away to take care of a new customer who had sidled up to the bar.

DiNozzo munched on a few pretzels and sipped at his beer, savoring the cool, crisp bite as he unwound and let the stresses of the day—week—slip away.

"So," started Charlie, returning to stand in front of Tony, "how's my buddy, Gibbs? Haven't seen him around in a good while either."

"Oh, you know Gibbs, he's—" A sudden commotion in the back corner of the bar drew Tony's attention. An all-encompassing glance showed a young blonde woman and a dark-haired man arguing. As DiNozzo watched, the man pushed away from the table violently and stood, dumping the chair on its side. Gut instinct told Tony this could turn real bad, real fast. Putting down his beer, he stood and made his way toward the table, arriving just as the guy drew back a fist. Tony wrapped strong fingers around the guy's wrist.

"So not a good idea, man."

The other guy's head swiveled in his direction, heavy brows beetled over his nose as he glared. "Mind your own damn business, asshole."

"Uh uh uh—you kiss your mother with that mouth? Listen, Rocky, you have about three seconds to stand down or my friend, Charlie, over there is calling the police."

"Fuck off, shithead." The man tried to pull his arm from Tony's unrelenting grasp.

"Seriously, man, chill. Charlie's picking up the phone. And as a federal agent, I have an obligation to detain you until they arrive. Oh…we make good witnesses too."

Tony felt the tension ebb out of the man's muscles, even though his expression remained fierce.

"Fine. I'm outta here. This little bitch ain't worth it anyway. Never was." He threw a fiery glare in the blonde's direction before stalking away and slamming out the front door.

DiNozzo let his gaze rest on the woman. "You okay?"

The blonde looked back at him with a rather glazed look in her eye. "You know, Mr. Federal Agent, you really should've just minded your own business."

He was taken aback by her words. "But…"

She stood and clutched her purse to her chest. "Really—you've simply delayed the inevitable."

Before Tony could respond in any way to her cryptic statement, she spun on her spiked heels and sauntered out of the bar, leaving Tony standing, nonplussed, by the now-empty table. The agent righted the overturned chair and returned to his stool at the bar.

"Weird," he muttered to Charlie then turned his attention back to his beer. He and the barkeep chatted for a while, pausing intermittently as Charlie tended to patrons. Tony swallowed the last of his beer and set the longneck down on the bar, partially suppressing a tiny belch brought on courtesy of the heady fermented beverage.

"Getcha 'nother one?" offered Charlie.

"Nah, I think one'll do me for tonight, Charlie. I need to get going anyway." Tony dropped money on the highly-polished bar. "I'll tell Gibbs to drop by soon."

"You do that, kid. It'd be nice to see him again. And don't you be such a stranger either, you hear?"

DiNozzo held up his hands in acquiescence. "I hear, I hear!" He offered up a wave and walked out the door, heading toward his car in the back corner parking space. His mind focused on nothing more than a couple of slices of cold leftover pizza and a warm bed.

The first blow took him by surprise just as he inserted his key into the car door lock. The fist impacted with his temple with enough force to make him stagger sideways a couple of steps. Shaking off the resulting dizziness, Tony swung around, instinctively ready to fight—ready to defend. He got the impression of dark hair and a murderous expression just before another one-two punch landed, blackening his eye and splitting his lip. As a warm trickle of blood ran down his chin, Tony drew back his own fist and let it fly, satisfied when it met flesh with a solid thud. Unfortunately, it was the only punch he was able to land as he was suddenly grabbed from behind, his attacker's unseen but hefty partner quickly immobilizing his arms. Despite his best efforts to break free or at the very least kick out, a series of solid blows brought him to his knees. Once he was down, his attacker put his own feet to good use, landing several swift kicks to DiNozzo's ribs. As blackness encroached along the edges of his awareness, Tony vaguely heard "Now you know what I think of bastard federal agents" and then the darkness claimed him completely.

_****NCIS****_

The ringing of his cell phone on the nightstand by his bed roused Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs from a for-once restful sleep. He rolled over, groaned, and cast an evil eye at the alarm clock which read 2:02 a.m. Knowing a call this time of the night meant nothing good, he groped for the chirping cell phone and answered with a gruff, "What?"

There was hesitant pause on the other end of the phone before a soft voice said, "Is this Leroy Gibbs?"

"It is." He didn't bother to correct her regarding his name.

"Good. This is Miriam Cho, a nurse at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Sir, we have an Anthony DiNozzo here in our emergency room. You're listed in his record as next of kin. He asked us not to call, but the doctor felt it was important to—"

"He _asked_ you not to call?"

"Yes, sir. Well, it was more a mumbled, 'Please don't tell Gibbs'. But given the concussion…"

"Ah, hell. Is he gonna be okay?" Jethro tensed as worry for his senior field agent settled across his shoulders.

Again there was a slight hesitation. "He should be fine, but Dr. Daniels was hoping you could come to the hospital."

"I'll be right there." Gibbs sighed and hung up before Nurse Cho could say another word. He threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, socks and gym shoes, settled a baseball cap on his head, and tucked his badge in his pocket. He was on the road in less than five minutes.

_****NCIS****_

Hurrying to the check-in desk in the ER at Bethesda, Jethro caught the attention of the scrub-clad woman seated there. "Excuse me, I'm Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he displayed his badge as he spoke, "I got a call from a Miriam Cho that one of my agents was here, Anthony DiNozzo."

The woman tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard. "Oh, yes. Let me just call Miriam and Dr. Daniels for you. You can have a seat right over there." The woman pointed to a bank of uncomfortable looking chairs as she dialed the phone.

Ignoring the offer, Gibbs' remained standing right where he was.

After announcing his presence into the phone, she hung up and smiled at him. "Dr. Daniels will be right out."

Gibbs nodded and took a few steps away from the counter to wait. A couple of minutes later, a blond man of about 45 walked through the set of double doors and scanned the room, his gaze quickly singling out Gibbs. He strode forward with his hand outstretched. "You must be Agent Gibbs."

"I am." Gibbs shook the doctor's hand.

"Dr. David Daniels. Why don't we sit over here for a moment?" He led the way to a secluded corner.

"What's going on with my agent, Doc? Was it a car accident?"

"No. It appears Agent DiNozzo has been in a fight. Or more accurately, someone—if I may be blunt—beat the shit out of him."

"How bad?"

"Well, as you know he has a concussion—a moderate one. He has a few lacerations that I've stitched, a black eye, and busted lip as well as extensive bruising along his torso and a couple of cracked ribs—best guess is he was kicked repeatedly. He has a sprained left wrist and broken pinky finger. What I'm most concerned about though is that he has a badly bruised spleen."

"Does it need to come out?"

"No, at this point we don't think so. Chances are it will resolve itself. But we'd like to keep him a few days to monitor his condition."

Jethro nodded in understanding.

"But…"

"But what, Doc?"

"Agent DiNozzo has quite the stubborn streak in him. He seems to think he's going to walk out of here and go home in the next couple of minutes. I've tried explaining that it's not a good idea, especially because he lives alone. His condition could worsen suddenly before he knew what hit him…"

"Oh, he hasn't seen stubborn yet, Doc. Can I see him now?"

David Daniels smiled. "Of course. And Agent Gibbs, even after we release him in a few days, I'd rather he not be alone for another week or so—just to be on the safe side."

"Not a problem, Dr. Daniels. Tony will be coming home with me whether he likes it or not."

Both men stood and Daniels led Gibbs to the cubicle wherein Tony was ensconced. "I'll give you a few minutes alone with him while I go make the arrangements to have him admitted."

Gibbs pushed his way into the cubicle. His first look at his senior field agent had him wincing automatically. Tony was a mess.

"What's this I hear about you telling them not to contact me?"

Tony jumped and his eyes flew open at the sound of his boss's voice. The room spun dizzily while he fought to locate then focus on Gibbs. He couldn't quite stifle a gasp as his injuries made themselves known at the slightest movement. "Geez, B-Boss, one of you is s-scary enough but two or three of you at the same time is downright terrifying." DiNozzo's voice was low and breathy.

"Oh, make no mistake—one of me is terrifying under the right circumstances, DiNozzo. I repeat—what's this I hear about you telling them not to contact me?"

"Ahh, Boss, I-I just didn't want 'em to bother you, that's all." Tony closed his eyes and willed down the nausea, knowing that throwing up at this point would be beyond painful.

"If you didn't already have a concussion, I'd slap you in the back of the head for that." Gibbs' tone was gruff but there was an undercurrent of concern threaded through it. "Tony, what the hell happened?"

Tony looked at him, eyes at half mast as the throbbing in his head kept time with his heartbeat. "Honestly? Things are a little fuzzy. I remember going to Charlie's Place. There was this woman…a blonde…and some guy…"

Gibbs' brow creased. "You were in a bar fight over a woman?"

"No!" It was Tony's turn to frown. "At least I don't think so."

"I think I can tell you what mighta happened," announced an unexpected voice from the doorway. Both agents turned their attention to the newcomer.

"Well, if it isn't Charlie Flynn." Gibbs smiled and held out his hand.

"Jethro."

"So you can shed some light on why my agent is lying in a hospital bed?"

"I think so, yeah." Charlie looked at DiNozzo. "Tony, I'm so sorry. I wanted to come in with the ambulance, I'm the one who called, you see, but I had to close up the bar and everything first." His gaze shifted to Gibbs. "They let me come back 'cause I said I needed to tell you what happened."

"I'd like to hear it."

Charlie quickly shared the earlier incident in the bar. "Tony didn't stay too long afterward. I'd bet anything that guy waited for him to leave and jumped 'im."

"Would you be able to give a description of both the man and the woman to a sketch artist?"

"You betcha. I just feel so bad this happened at my place." The bar owner took off his baseball cap and wrung it in his hands.

"Hey, Charlie," DiNozzo's voice was a raspy whisper as he struggled to stay awake; the injuries and meds taking their toll. "S'not your fault. I-I wa-s try'n to be helpful."

"Charlie, I'd appreciate if you'd come down to headquarters in the morning and give us those descriptions. DiNozzo, why don't you get some rest? I'll be back tomorrow."

Tony made as if it sit. "Home."

Gibbs' gently pushed at his shoulders, forcing him to rest back against the gurney with ease. "Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere. You're being admitted."

"What? N-No!"

"Doctor's orders…and MINE."

Tony squirmed a bit on the gurney, wanting to protest, yet the way the room was spinning and the nausea churning in his gut, he knew it was a losing battle. He gripped the sides of the gurney tightly and let his eyes fall shut.

"And I don't want to hear that you've been giving the docs shit of any kind. Got it?"

"G-Got it, B-Boss." At that, DiNozzo let sleep claim him, feeling warm palm dust across his forehead just as he slipped over the edge.

_****NCIS****_

DiNozzo spent the rest of the night and much of the next day intermittently sleeping, waking only long enough for required examinations and neuro checks. By late afternoon, though, he was somewhat awake and staring at the television, still-blurry vision aside; the volume at a bare minimum as the concussion fueled a persistent headache. A noise at the door captured his attention, and Tony carefully turned his head, finding his fellow agents, Ziva David and Tim McGee, crossing the threshold.

"Hey, Zee-vah and McGoober!" If his voice was a ghost of its itself no one called attention to it. The Mossad liaison eyed the visible stitches and bruising.

"Wow—Tony—I must say—you look a bit like Franklinstein."

Both Tony and McGee chuckled, but Tony's ended with a pained groan. Ziva, perplexed, looked between the two men. "What?"

"It's Frank-EN-stein, Ziva. No 'L'," rasped Tony.

"Personally, I think the Frankenstein monster looked better," McGee observed dryly.

"Gee, thanks McMuffintop."

Tim smiled. "Anytime."

"Gibbs said to tell you he'd be by later this evening with Ducky," offered Ziva.

Tim continued, "And Abby should be here soon. She said to tell you and I quote 'I'm waiting for Major Mass Spec to give me a vital report for Gibbs but I'll be up directly thereafter'."

The trio spent the next half hour or so visiting, Ziva and Tim taking their leave a few minutes after Abby bounded into the room. During her exuberant and detailed account of her day at the lab, the staff delivered dinner, which Tony pushed away with a grunt. Less than ten minutes later, he was sound asleep.

When next he opened his eyes, Tony found Gibbs and Ducky settled in chairs in the corner of the room. He blinked at the two men then made the mistake of moving, letting out a groan as his ribs and numerous deep-purple bruises protested. The noise garnered their attention immediately.

"Anthony, my dear boy, how are you feeling? Judging from what I can see, fairly awful if I may say."

DiNozzo's mouth tipped up slightly at the corner. "What? This? Pfft. It's nothing. I feel peachy, Ducky."

"I see Abby was here recently," remarked Gibbs.

Shooting his boss a quizzical look, Tony said, "Yeah—how'd you know?"

"The bright red lipstick print on your forehead was my first clue," Jethro pointed to the mark.

"Oh." His cheekbones tinted a dull pink as Tony gently rubbed his fingers across his forehead to disperse the mark, careful to avoid the line of stitches. "Any word on my pugilistic attackers who thought I made an awesome punching bag?"

Gibbs' mouth tightened in frustration and his eyes went flat. "Not yet."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Daniels. "Well, it's good to see my patient awake, aware, and conversing coherently, I hope?"

"Doc, if you're waiting for coherent conversation from DiNozzo," Gibbs deadpanned, "you're gonna have a long wait." The teasing gleam in his eyes took all sting from the words.

Taking it for what it was—lighthearted teasing—Tony chuckled with the rest of them, his arm immediately flying to brace his sore ribs. "Boss," he grumbled when he got his breath back, "you're not supposed to make the injured guy laugh!"

The doctor, still grinning, approached the bed and spoke up, "If you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to do a quick exam."

Gibbs and Dr. Mallard stepped into the hall to wait. Ten minutes later, the doctor joined them, shaking his head ruefully. "I hate to tell you, but you have one grouchy agent to deal with when you go back in there."

Jethro sipped from his ever-present coffee cup, "Why's that?"

"Because I told him I wanted him to stay here for another two days."

Sure enough, when Gibbs and Ducky reentered Tony's hospital room, DiNozzo was in full on pout mode.

_****NCIS****_

If Tony thought the two additional days in the hospital were miserable, he did and bemoaned them readily, the two additional days at Gibbs' house were torture. Not because of anything his boss did, but because of the forced inactivity. It was driving him mad.

The first day he wiled away on the couch watching a collection of DVDs conveniently provided by Abby, and though cheesy horror flicks weren't really his thing, it passed the time.

On the second day, just to have something to do, he'd thrown in a couple of loads of laundry—washed, dried, and clumsily folded each load because of his wrapped wrist and finger, only to be treated to Gibbs' patented glare for ignoring orders. Under the scorching scrutiny, Tony had made sure not to mention a few inconvenient dizzy spells and his utter exhaustion by the time Gibbs had arrived home with the pepperoni and sausage pizza that they'd had for dinner.

Now on day three, DiNozzo couldn't take it anymore. He was showered, dressed, and at the table in the kitchen, pot of fresh coffee made, when his boss walked in.

Gibbs eyed him critically. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Work." Tony set his cup down on the table, fiddling with it nervously.

"Is that so?"

DiNozzo opened his mouth, prepared to beg but didn't have the chance to speak.

"Any abdominal pain?"

"No."

"Back pain or chest pain?"

"No—well, just the sore ribs and the bruising."

"Fainting or vomiting?"

Tony rolled his eyes at the word fainting. "Nope."

"None of the other warning signs on the list?"

"No."

"Anything else I need to know about?"

Tony hesitated. "I-I've had a couple of dizzy spells from the concussion."

"A couple?" Gibbs' tone was skeptical…with good reason.

"Okay, several. But only going up and down stairs."

Jethro raised an eyebrow.

Tony sighed. "Okay, _and_ when I get up too fast."

Gibbs was quiet for a long moment, and Tony feared he'd blown it.

"Fine. You can come in. But you're on desk duty all day. Nothing but paperwork."

"YES! Thanks, Boss!"

"And only after Ducky gives you a quick once-over."

DiNozzo grimaced but nodded his head in agreement. Anything to feel useful again.

"You want something to eat?"

Tony hated Gibbs waiting on him; it made him uncomfortable. He was about to refuse when a bowl and spoon were plunked down in front of him. "Umm…cereal?"

"Good choice."

As Gibbs turned away to grab the box of cereal and refill his coffee mug, Tony unrolled the morning paper he'd carried in from the front stoop. His gasp had Gibbs spinning around in alarm.

"Tony?" Jethro watched as DiNozzo's face drained of color. Thinking something injury-related was happening, Gibbs moved to his side and said, "Tony, what's wrong?"

DiNozzo pointed to the paper's headline and the two pictures underneath. "That's them! Th-The blonde from the bar and the dark-haired guy."

Gibbs squinted at the headline. It read _**Two Dead in Murder/Suicide Plot.**_

"Shit. H-He killed her. I-I remember her saying I was only delaying the inevitable. I should've been able to prevent it somehow!" He made as if to stand, grunting as his still sore ribs objected to the abrupt movement. A hand landed on his shoulder.

"Whoa—take it easy. Read the article, Tony. It says that she killed him before taking her own life."

"But still…I…"

"It ALSO says that they were both criminals wanted by both the Skagit and Whatcom County Sheriffs' Offices in the state of Washington for car jacking, home invasion, assault, and attempted murder three years ago." The hand gripping Tony's shoulder tightened for a moment before letting go. "Looks to me like you were lucky."

"Lucky?"

"You could've ended up dead a few days ago just from that chance meeting."

Some of his tension eased away, and DiNozzo sank back down on the chair, a hand bracing his ribs. He sat quietly as Gibbs poured cereal in his bowl, finally allowing himself to acknowledge the truth of Gibbs' words. Despite everything, he _was_ lucky.

_**Fin**_


End file.
